Tension of the Hold
by BrightEyedBrat
Summary: After an embarrassing photoshoot, Midoriya is determined to be a better dance partner for Uraraka, so he inquires about his former childhood friend, Kacchan, who so happens to be Uraraka's ex-dance partner. She lets him in on the details (AU).


This is my super, duper late Secret Santa gift for ohmytheon! I chose ballroom dancing AU as I unfortunately lack knowledge of the lore of the FMA and Soul Eater universe due to time constraints. I am incredibly sorry for posting your gift so late, and after a month and more (worst writing block I've ever had tbh), it's been awhile since I've written to this length. Have a Belated Happy New Year! 3

Warning: My knowledge of ballroom dancing is based on what I've heard from people who have taken it and the anime Ballroom e Youkoso! It isn't necessarily the most correct portrayal of dance so don't take it that seriously. It's honestly more of relationship-dynamic study inserted with some cheesy tropes here and there (only with dancing lol).

* * *

If there was something to describe her recent photoshoot with Deku, 'strictly platonic' was laughable. She knew what she was getting into. They both did. But being broke made you do things. And Uraraka had not seen a fat check in months after her official registration with him as dancing partners.

Their attire was nothing to shriek about. They were both clad in loose, comfy gym clothes, a tease of skin, but not to the point of being provoking. It was only their set of poses that were suggestive enough to reduce them both into a blushing, stammering mess before they even executed them; poor, jittery Deku especially.

But honestly, they really needed the money.

"Gee." She lolled her head back on the arm of the couch, the rest of her body supine. "Wonder what Todoroki will think about this."

Deku gulped at the mention of that name, though his mouth shaped into a determined line considerably. "He's always off on numerous photoshoots with Yayaorozu-san. I bet he wouldn't even spare these a glance." He bowed his head for a moment and Uraraka immediately detected the beginnings of jealousy that he awfully tried to suppress. He was too respectful sometimes.

Uraraka chuckled. "Oh, Deku, stop with the negativity, already, we look hot." She gave him an embarrassed thumbs-up.

Her partner pocketed the phone with a big sigh and his eyes, so abnormally large, roamed over her person with concern. "What about yours?" He asked, fidgeting with his thumbs.

"Huh?" Uraraka's mouth fell open. "What are you talking about?"

Oh, she knew. It was questions like that where Uraraka loved playing dumb.

Deku's gaze went downward. "Y-y-your….e-e-"

"It's okay, Deku, you can say ex-partner." She interrupted him with a sweet smile, ignoring the dangerous fluttering in her stomach.

Deku sniffed at the word "ex", and Uraraka couldn't feel any sorrier. Sure, dancers broke up and found multiple partners throughout their career, to discover perspectives as they said, but to Deku, the bond between dancing partners was as sacred to him as that of a romantic bond.

And that was the problem, wasn't it? Awestruck spectators that obviously couldn't identify a perfect dance form for crap would always assume there was something going on between a couple unless they weren't related by blood. Deku and Uraraka herself were fairly well-known before teaming up so it didn't take long before the rumors started to circulate once they've stepped together onto the ballroom floor, hand-in-hand, for all to see.

"How is it between you and Kacchan?" He asked. "You never talk about him that much."

"I thought that's your specialty." She gave him a cheeky grin. Even apart, Deku still cared for his _Kacchan_ , made only possible through childhood familiarity and the former's caring heart.

"What about that time you and Jirou tried to break into Blackpool just to see the Todoroki couple and failed?" Uraraka joked in an attempt to change the subject, lazily scrolling through their photos.

"I told you that story twice, Uraraka. In Jirou's version and mine."

"Ah, well." She laughed nervously. "You know him. He gets off the rockers most times but he won't get bothered by us, I guess. He gets endorsed every day for God's sake."

"But…" Deku paused, "How was it really like for you?"

For the record, he could've asked her straight-on if he wanted to take more dancing notes about his former best friend that badly. Deku was too analytic of a performer for his own good. But it didn't hurt to accommodate him just this once.

Uraraka sighed and put her phone down, later on raising a brow in amusement at the anticipation in Deku's eyes, and she hadn't even opened her mouth yet.

She shared the same sentiment in that regard. She'd only be deluding herself if she didn't admit that her former partner's hold was nothing short of…electrifying.

-x-

Deku is a good dance partner.

For one who used to follow, he had become inept at leading after only two, rapid weeks of training. Uraraka feels assured in his hold, firm but gentle. His legs move deftly in a way that allows Uraraka's own to move more dynamically across the floor even with the space in their humble studio.

In competitions, he hides what he knows of being a female dance partner by concealing them in her own movements, and she blooms like a flower in his arms to return the favor, fooling the judges, fooling everyone.

She's surprised when Deku tells her one day, during their water break, that she can be very capable of leading him.

"I can feel when your limbs ease into dominance. You've done role reversals too, haven't you?" Deku smiles, wiping the sweat off his brow while she forgets to re-apply her makeup. "Not many couples practice like that. It's a great challenge to take on."

Well, of course. Accepting challenges seemed to become a thing for her after dancing with _him_.

-x-

Bakugou Katsuki.

The name still sends phantom hands down her spine, hot breath against her cheek, the perfect flush of a broad chest where she could feel the strongest of heartbeats out of pure passion for dance.

To the world, he is Japan's most polarizing ballroom dancer. A study in competitive spirit. A natural genius, but without the cool-headed title to cap it off. Sometimes, Uraraka still pictures him setting the ballroom floor on fire with an untamed power balanced by a grace she couldn't achieve even in her tender ballerina days.

-x-

She was swept in the world of ballroom when she couldn't stand the repetition she experienced as a company dancer who only twirled for cash instead of the freedom she longed to feel in her weary, mechanical bones. She could be more than one thing there, explore different, more…experimental styles that would make her former classmates squeal and curl their lips in disgust.

Uraraka wasn't afraid to admit it, but in the beginning, Bakugou had seemed like the worst possible choice for a first partner.

Other female dancers were either too snobbish or too afraid to take his hand, when the end result was that they'd scathingly claim they weren't good enough for him. She'd heard rumors that he used to be the star champion in a Shotokan karate dojo, but got kicked out due to his bouts of aggression and turned to a more…socially sophisticated sport. He was the poster boy of arrogance mixed poorly with ambition, as they'd said. But in a way the dancers who'd come within his presence were also drawn to the exotic way he glided along the floor, even when he shadow danced alone, earning him frustrated but curious stares from both leaders and followers alike.

Until now, Uraraka always wondered what got into her when she strode up to him one day after a normal practice group session to make her proposal, seeing the unbidden interest and challenge in his red, piercing eyes, how she caught his muscles bunching up in an invitation to whirl her away into this tempting void she'd created. Several jaws present had dropped in that moment almost as a tribute to her act of recklessness.

"You're on, Angelface," He'd rasped, raw and honest in his expectation of her not to underperform. Not on his watch.

If there was anything she took pride in herself for, it was for stepping out of her comfort zone every chance she got.

-x-

The stories were true. Bakugou was _excellent_ , but he was also a _beast_.

Sometimes his grip on her waist would be too tight, or she wouldn't manage to make contact with his chest, arms, hips, and abdomen at important intervals in their routine from how quickly and fiercely they moved. He would spin her around and around like a rag-doll, to the point that she'd break the practiced smile off her face and almost retch in their 3-minute Viennese waltz, make her gasp in heat when he'd growl and draw her leg up roughly in Tango, and turn her already elevated feet incredibly sore from his unpredictable variations between the foxtrot and the quickstep, easing surefire movements out of her that she never knew she was capable of.

Their choreography was never the same. Each step, each throwaway, each snap of the head, was always different, always newer, more creative, more spontaneous. They were a whirlwind force to be reckoned with on the dance floor, and they had the audience's attention glued to them with heat after heat.

Dances with Bakugou meant hell to the body, but Uraraka endured and endured until she endlessly craved the sweet fire that only the charm of his hold could provide.

-x-

In ballroom dancing, disagreements between couples were a constant. Uraraka was no stranger to Bakugou's harsh and loud criticisms, and she certainly spouted a fair share of her own when he was being too stubborn. but it seemed he was more thrown off by her demeanor than usual on this particular session.

"Stop. Stop." He gritted out, prying Uraraka's arms off his.

"What's wrong?" She panted. They were both drenched in sweat after two mock heats late into the night, the melodious tune of the harp music they'd looped on repeat still playing in the background.

As if finally tired of the sound, Bakugou stomped over to the record player and turned it off, throwing his head back with an annoyed sigh. Without her permission, Uraraka's gaze clung hungrily to the beads of sweat running down his throat into his tank top.

"I'm not feeling the same synchronization we had before. We're two steps short of harmony here." He gesticulated between them wildly.

What could that possibly mean?

She worked to give herself some credit. It always impressed him that she was willing to point out her strengths and apply them for future reference. "But I always align with your sequences and do our lifts-"

"You've been growing dependent on me." The blonde crossed his arms. Uraraka didn't utter another thing, shell-shocked at what she heard.

"What?"

Bakugou unexpectedly swept a small kick at her foot, almost throwing her off balance. "I want our teamwork to succeed, but you also need to be more assertive. You may be my partner but you're also my rival, you know."

Ah.

 _Ah._

She didn't know how to feel in that instant. Shame? Flattery? An absurd combination of the two? And Bakugou had the gall to say he was awful with words.

But he was right. She had enough pride to believe she danced her best as Bakugou's partner, with all the rigorous training and accolades they've earned. Uraraka believed so much it didn't register to her that her own personal style was getting overshadowed by his.

"We're gonna change things up a bit. Approach this routine from a different angle until the next Blackpool." He stretched minutely before getting into position, only he wasn't looming over her. In fact…

His back arched, like a beautiful flower placed in its vase. He bent his knees and lifted his strong arms up as an offer. He tilted his head, neck exposed with swan-like precision, eyes daring Uraraka not to question whatever the hell he was doing.

Uraraka's cheeks reddened and she pressed her palms to them in an effort to get them under control.

No way…

Bakugou Katsuki had just fallen into the _female_ pose. He didn't even tremble despite the lack of support, just like she herself had practiced countless times. Her heart almost roared with envy at the feminine grace that radiated off him, it was ridiculous.

Before she could protest, he egged her on, tone purposeful. "Come, Angel. Show me your lead. Take my feet off the ground." Even in the position he was in, he still managed to be so bossy.

Uraraka's limbs moved of their own accord, and she stepped forward with an untapped confidence, begging to be cracked open. The longer she stared at her partner's challenging form, the more her usual submissiveness slipped away, in the unfamiliar arc of one her arms moving to slot perfectly beneath Bakugou's, her other hand gripping his calloused one. She stood erect, towering over Bakugou, who responded to the grip with a bemused grin, arching further to accommodate their height difference.

 _Oh._

With that one hold alone, she held the semblance of _control_ for the first time.

The overwhelming power of it had her breathless.

Her countless bodily observations of Bakugou's strength and dominance had served their purpose. Reliant on her sharp memory, she moved to music inside her head, dragging Bakugou along with her. When she got addled in her steps, Bakugou would coax her back into leading him, no tentativeness allowed, not quite aiming for a particular style but still effortless in their imprecise dance. What only mattered was this addictive power surging through Uraraka's bones whenever Bakugou was able to read her lead, providing feedback through his wide steps and surprisingly flexible legs, reminding her that she wasn't the only one in control.

When Uraraka had finally run out of sequences to dance to, Bakugou lifted his back until he standing tall over her again, still holding each other in the same reversed pose. They were so out of breath that Uraraka had to lean into Bakugou's chest, with his head over her chin.

He slowly moved his head, mouth coming at her ear. "Fucking brilliant."

-x-

Uraraka smiled sheepishly as she looked up at Bakugou's less-than-amused expression. She had a leg around his waist, and he dipped her down so low the tips of her hair brushed the floor.

"What the fuck was with that photo-op of you and Deku."

She craned her neck to brush her lips against his throat, and he exacted his revenge by lifting her up brusquely and stroking a hand up her spine, earning him a hitched gasp.

"You don't see me complaining about Camie," She breathed out, satisfied at the blush that took over the face of her ex-partner.

Well, secret boyfriend to be exact.

"That's because she's always splayed out for the paparazzi to notice I'm messing around with a floaty like you. Unlike that damn nerd. He's been fanboying over me a lot recently, asking to me to fucking dance with him, and it's pissing me off. Did you have something to do with it?"

Their hips touched and they tipped their toes before flowing into a chasse. When they finally slid into their finishing pose, she teased, breath ghosting on his lips. "Don't worry. I didn't tell him everything. The juicy bits at least. You still better watch out for when we're going to kick your butts in the next competition."

"Be prepared to die, then." he grunted, closing his mouth over hers.


End file.
